Red to Scars
by Azecreth
Summary: All it takes is a little red, a little pain, to make a better Akira. Why would she stop?


**A/N:It's about time I got back to writing something for WIXOSS. Hopefully more to come in th future, but Akira is just so fun to write that I figured I'd start with this here bit.**

 **Warning for self harm.**

* * *

 _Drip_

 _Drip_

Blood. Red. Warm. Pulsing.

Red stains on the white sink, the tile floor. Trickling strands of red on her arm. The soft patter of droplets falling to the ground.

An image in a bathroom mirror. Tangled brunette air. A trembling arm held out over the sink, lines of red running along it. Blood tinted metal held in the other.

Ulith. All for Ulith. She bleeds just for her.

 _Drip_

 _Drip_

Each cut is careful, each mark considered before applied. She doesn't want to die, just to bleed. Ulith would be mad at her if she went too far, and Akira can't tolerate that thought.

The knife moves. Skin parts as red blossoms into existence. Pain. Heat. But a good pain. Ulith likes pain. And if Ulith likes it then it must be good.

How did she get here, to this point? Akira doesn't remember. She doesn't remember a lot of things from her new life, doesn't care to. Ulith is all that matters, why bother with errant feelings?

Perhaps she should be careful, make sure that the wounds aren't visible to others. Her own private secret, her own private hate. But what does it matter? Not like she goes to school these days. Useless sycophants. They should all suffer like she did.

Ulith. Ulith would like it. She likes the scars, her scars. Her ugliness on the surface for the world to see. This is just the same thing, right? More scars to show what she really is.

She just wants Ulith to be happy with her. If she's happy then it can't be bad.

 _Drip_

 _Drip_

The flat of her knife trails along her arm, running over ridges and bumps from her cuts. It's her deadbeat mother's knife. One of the most useful things she's done for her.

How many more this time? One? Two? How many more until that ache in her chest goes away? Until she can't feel the sting in her jaw anymore? The one that won't go away without drugs to ease her mind or Ulith there to take it all away?

Love, that's what she needs. Pure love. Real love. The kind that can make her go from ugly to lovely. The kind that can fix everything fucked up about her. Or maybe just accept who she is.

She knows better than to expect anything else. What do you do about someone as fucked up as she is?

 _Drip_

 _Drip_

Ulith knows. Ulith will make her better. Ulith will make her the person she needs to be. There is nothing odd about the fact that the girl pretending to be Iona has become her existence, her purpose in life.

What else does she have? Nothing. That stupid game took it all away from her. Iona took it away, that bitch Ruko took it away, fucking Mayu took it away. They like her suffering. How ironic that she never would have discovered her true self without it.

That's her last laugh. They've hurt her, but she's still here, still alive and kicking. And she's the one who'll make sure they get what's coming to them. They deserve it, for giving her this sc-

On reflex her hand shakes, a hiss escaping as the cut is gouged deeper and wide than she intends it to be. Stupid stupid girl. The knife clatters to ceramic as she grabs her arm, cradling it as red wells up at a faster pace. There are no tears to accompany it. She used up her tears on physical pain that night.

 _Pitter patter_

 _Pitter patter_

Her arm throbs, but she makes no move to bandage it. Red reminds her, the memories come back. Herself, that night, that man, and that girl. The one she beat. The one she killed. Probably laughing at her now from wherever she ended up to see her in this state.

She deserves it, of course she does. But she can become better. Ulith will make it, her, better. Forgiveness and rebirth through blood, through scars, through ugliness. Then maybe she'll be worth something in this damn world again.

"Just you wait Ulith," she muttered to herself as she sways. "I'll be Aki-lovely soon. I'm sure of it."

She turns, heads back to her room. Let her mom handle the blood and stuff, what does she care? There's no effort to bind her wounds, to staunch the bleeding. Better to get something visible out of this. It isn't serious.

 _Pitter patter_

 _Pitter patter_

A smile comes to her face as she walks. Soon. Soon she'll be Akira again. The good Akira. The right Akira. Just the way it should be.


End file.
